Gemotions

The news had hit Marcus like a physical blow. He sat in the common room, the plush chairs suddenly feeling like instruments of torture. The announcement, a cold, impersonal decree, lay discarded on the table, crumpled and stained with his spilled coffee. He’d barely read it. He knew the gist.

He wanted to lash out, to destroy something. He wanted to hurt someone, to make them understand this burning sense of injustice. He imagined smashing a window, letting the world in. But that wouldn't fix anything. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.

He stared at the television, its screen a blank, mocking eye. He picked up the remote, then flung it across the room. It shattered against the wall. Better.